


Sandor Get Your Tools!

by rougefox



Series: You Can't Go Home Again (For the Holidays) [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas toys, F/M, Parenthood, Sevenmas morning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 23:14:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8773219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rougefox/pseuds/rougefox
Summary: It's Sevenmas night and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, except some parents trying to finish putting together the new toys before the kids wake up.





	

**Late Sevenmas Eve in a reasonably sized house located in a middle class neighborhood with good schools…**

 

 

Sandor Clegane let out a sigh of contentment as he happily dropped his “good” clothes into the dry cleaning hamper and pulled on his plaid flannel pajamas.

 

 

It was over. All the family togetherness shit was done.

 

 

There were some perks of fatherhood that Sandor really liked; the most recent was being able to weasel out of family engagements early because “the children are tired”.

 

 

This time it was true. In between making cookies with their grandmother and chasing the fat guy Jon brought to dinner around the woods, all three of his pups had been asleep in the car before they got to the highway.

 

 

Sandor chuckled to himself. He knew his girls could be feral little monsters (hell they came from him) but there were moments when they made him proud.

 

 

Like tonight when Jon’s fucking stuck up, smelly, hippie girlfriend declared the beauty pageants his pups competed in to be “heteronormative, exploitative, bullshit that sexualize young girls and brainwashes them to believe they are nothing more than sum of their physical attractiveness”.

 

 

A moment later the fat guy broke through the tree line with his pups on his heels.

 

 

Theon Greyjoy had cackled like a witch and said; “Oh yes! Those girls are really repressed!”

 

 

(Sandor still didn’t understand why Theon and Robb got so mad when Sansa offered to wrap up some pie for them to take with when they volunteered to drive fat boy to the Emergency Room.)

 

 

When it came to his daughters “games” with unsuspecting guests, Sandor would always shrug off complaints and growl down criticism. He also never understood why they went to the hospital; his pups had all their shots. It wasn’t his fault those they played with couldn’t remember the date of their last tetanus shot and chose to go get a booster.  

 

 

Sandor made his way to the living room couch and sank into the overstuffed cushions.  The food had been good, the girls had fun decorating cookies (after they were checked for ticks) and the conversation between Meera and that horse’s ass Edmure Tully during dinner had been really funny. Sandor didn’t give a rat shit about politics, but watching someone other than himself get the shit eye from Grandpa Stark was worth the trip.

 

 

“Father?”

 

 

Sandor turned his head to the little pixie who appeared next to him. Sansa had taken Sandy’s blonde hair down from the pigtails and had wrestled her into a pink fleece footie pajamas.

 

 

“Would you like to try the cookies we made for Father Winter?” she asked holding up a plate piled high with overly frosted confections in bulbous shapes representing the Seven. He picked up what he surmised was a seven pointed star covered in green and pink frosting.  Just by looking at it he knew the extra sugar would make his teeth hurt and the dye in the frosting would turn his mouth blue.

 

 

“Do you think He will like them?” Sandy asked with all the conviction of a child attempting to bribe their way to presents knowing full well they had been not quite perfect in their behavior during the past year.

 

 

_I think he’d like a cold beer and a plate of fried chicken much more._

 

Sandor dropped the cookie back on the plate then gave his daughter a light caress on her soft cheek.

 

 

“I think he will like them very much, sweetie,” he replied. “But he can’t leave you presents unless you are asleep, you know the rules.”

 

 

Sandor wish he could hug the person who came up with the idea that only children who went to bed got presents. It would mean he could get a few hours alone with his wife before the chaos ensued in the morning and the house would be filled with squealing children and mountains of discarded wrapping paper.

 

 

Till Sandy was born they had always stayed the night at Sansa’s parents’ house and had Sevenmas morning there. Now Sandor would gladly deal with having glitter in the carpet till spring if it meant he wouldn’t have to deal with Mr. and Mrs. Stark at dawn.

 

 

Besides, he knew it was stupid and possessive, but he hated sharing his girls with other people.

 

 

At the party for Catie's last name day, Jon had made a joke that Sandor was going to build a wall and moat around his house when his daughters came of age to start dating.

 

 

Silly Targaryen. Sandor lived in a respectable neighborhood; the home owners association didn’t allow boats in the driveway let alone such a drastic building project.

 

 

Electric fences, security cameras and hiding razor wire in the hedges on the other hand, merely required a warning sign. 

 

 

Sansa called down from the second floor that it was time for bed. Sandor took the plate from his daughter and set it on the coffee table before rising and scooping her into his arms. She was so tiny he could carry her under one arm, which made her squeal with glee.

 

 

Sandy was going through a “pink” phase and as such everything in her room was _PINK._ It made him feel like he had crawled into a bottle of that awful medicine you take after eating bad Dornish take-out. But his little girl wanted it, so his little girl had it.

 

 

He dumped her on the bed and she kissed him goodnight first on the bad side then on the good side of his face. Sandor wondered, not for the first time, how an old, scarred dog like him got so lucky to have a house full of pretty girls who loved him. He left her sleeping under the watchful eyes of stuffed pink unicorns and the tall sparkly tiaras and trophies she had won in her "exploitative" pageants.

 

 

Sansa was already on the couch with mugs of mulled wine when he returned.

 

 

“Is she asleep?” she asked.

 

 

“Oh yes,” Sandor replied flopping down next to his wife and taking the offered cup of warm spiced wine.

 

 

Sansa turned on the TV and flipped to a channel showing a contentious loop of logs burning in a hearth. This was the closest thing to a fireplace Sandor allowed in his house after what his brother had done to him, but Sansa found it festive so he indulged her. He instead watched the electric lights of the Sevenmas tree.

 

 

Sansa leaned into her husband and sighed contently.

 

 

“You wrapped all the presents?” he asked because she had told him to remind her.

 

 

“Yes, my love,” Sansa replied letting her hand trace a pattern on his thigh starting at his knee and working her way up.

 

 

“You got everything we need at the grocery store for breakfast tomorrow?” Sansa asked.

 

 

Sandor repressed a shiver; he had put it off and had ended up going to the store at the last minute. He hadn’t seen a crowd like that since he was in the Marines stationed in the Dothraki Sea. Only in this mess he couldn’t fire a warning shot over everyone’s head to restore order.

 

 

“Yes, little bird, I got everything on the list.”

 

 

Sansa let her hand travel higher on his thigh. His flannel lounge pants were becoming tighter.

 

 

“So you want to put the presents under the tree now or get up early?” she asked.

 

 

His brain said take care of it now, but the location of his wife’s hand was telling him to go jump into bed.

 

 

“Why don’t we just fool around on the couch?” Sandor asked as he set down his mug and slipped his hand under her bathrobe.

 

 

Sansa giggled. She set her cup on the coffee table then jumped in his lap. Sandor had her robe open and had her almost out of her small clothes when she went stiff in his arms.

 

 

She leaned forward till their noses almost touched and stared into his eyes.

 

 

“Did you put together the playhouse?”

 

 

“What playhouse?”

 

 

“The playhouse my parents bought the girls! _The Pretty Pink Mini Highgarden Castle_ with real lights and plastic roses!” she hissed.

 

 

Sandor wanted to whimper; she was on his lap! His hands were in her small clothes! That stupid hearth was on the TV! They just had wine! The girls were in over exertion induced comas and they could have a good couple of hours before they would be awake enough to hear the noises!!

 

 

“It’s still in the back of the car, isn’t it Sandor?” his wife asked even though she knew the answer.

 

 

It was. It was in the back under a drop cloth, where he had put it after dinner. Grandpa Stark had proudly showed Sandor the massive box in the garage while the girls were with their grandmother. In the span of the time it took for Sandor to wrestle the fucking heavy thing into the back of the car, Grandpa Stark had informed him that he and his wife were very disappointed that they would not be there to see the girls face's when they saw it the next morning and that it had been very expensive.

 

 

He made one last ditch to get some lovin’ by the Sevenmas tree; “We can put a bow on the box and I’ll put it together tomorrow after breakfast?”

 

 

But Sansa was off his lap and tying her robe closed before he knew it.

 

 

“Get your shoes on,” she commanded and she went to fetch the car keys.

 

 

One hour later the TV was off, the couch had been shoved against the wall and the overhead light was burning their eyes with its harsh illumination.  The wine had been put in the frig and Sansa had put on a pot of coffee.

 

 

It had taken the handsaw Sandor used to trim small branches off the tree in the front yard to cut through the thick cardboard box. The directions had no pictures and the pieces where not numbered.

 

 

Sansa was sorting through a bag of screws and fasteners the size of a pineapple as Sandor tried to figure out which pieces went where.

 

 

“Sweetie?” Sansa practically whimpered.

 

 

_Oh gods, now what?_

 

 

Sansa held out a screw in a shaky hand; “What kind of screwdriver does this need?”

 

 

Sandor examined the head and felt all the air leave his lungs.

 

 

“A Hex Key!” he snarled at the screw. “They must have gotten this at _Ikea._ “

 

 

Sansa’s bottom lip started to shake.

 

 

“There wasn’t one in the bag!” she whimpered.

 

 

**_Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!_ **

 

 

“Are you sure, little bird?”

 

 

Sansa nodded her head and her big blue eyes began to water.

 

 

Sandor grasped his wife by the shoulders and pulled her to his lap. He whispered into her hair; “It will be okay, just put the other gifts under the tree and finish sorting this shit out. I will go to the store and get what we need and then I’ll be back and we will put this fucking monstrosity together. Okay?”

 

 

Sansa was still shaking, but nodded. He pulled her chin up so she looked him in the face.

 

 

“Okay, little bird?”

 

 

“Yes, Sandor,” she said attempting to smile. He kissed her like he hasn’t since they were dating and he was leaving for a week to go drag a city bus for one of the cable channels only shown in sports bars.

 

 

“Now what’s open at this hour on Sevenmas Eve?”

 

 

Sansa rubbed her nose on the sleeve of her robe.

 

 

“Ygritte said we should boycott PateAid because they make their employees work on Sevenmas Eve,” she replied trying to sound less exhausted than she was.

 

 

Sandor changed out of his warm flannel pajamas and into a pair of sort of clean jeans and a hoodie that had no noticeable odor. 

 

 

He pulled on his warm boots and winter jacket. Armed with his wallet and car keys he headed out into the night.

 

 

***

 

 

The parking lot was full, but there was only one register open.

 

 

Brutal florescent light illuminated everything with a sickly green tinge.

 

 

Sandor grabbed the biggest set of hex keys they carried and jumped in line in under a minute flat.

 

 

The man in front of him had a mega pack of toilet paper, a plunger and a frozen pie. Sandor almost wanted to know what was going on at his house, but decided it was probably better left unsaid.

 

 

The woman in front of him had a hand basket with what appeared to be three chocolate bars and some tissues. Sandor couldn’t see any further than that, but since the line hadn’t moved in the last five minutes he could only assume someone was buying every can of cat food in the place with a fist full of coupons and a pickle jar of coppers.

 

 

Sandor dozed on his feet. The effects of the heavy meal, mulled wine and late hour could only be kept at bay for so long but he had at least another two hours of work ahead of him.

 

 

“Whats the matter, dog?” a snide voice said behind him. “Your mistress told you to go fetch her some feminine hygiene products?”

 

 

He turned around to see the golden head of Jaime Lannister. Sandor had known him from the gym; Jaime was another investor and the legal side of the business was being handled by his younger brother Tyrion. Sandor had only met his twin sister once and found the encounter unpleasant to say the least. Whenever she was around Sandor could hear Theon Greyjoy's voice in the back of his head screaming "Cersei Lannister, Cee yoU Next Tuesday !"

 

 

Jaime’s wife Brienne on the other hand, was an ex- body builder turned physical therapist and one of the nicest women Sandor had ever met. She was currently very pregnant.

 

 

“What the hell are you going here Lannister?” he snarled. The line still wasn’t moving.

 

 

“Just thought I’d see what life was like when you aren’t snug in bed next to your wench on a cold winter’s night.”

 

 

Sandor looked in Jaime’s basket; pickles, chocolate bars, beef jerky, frozen Red Keep cheeseburgers.

 

 

Sandor chuckled; “So what are you getting for Sevenmas?”

 

 

Jamie smiled; “If the gods are good, a boy!”

 

 

“You’ll get girls,” Sandor said ominously. “Men like us? We get girls as penance for our machismo dickhead behavior. “

 

 

Jamie tried to smile but there were bags under his eyes and his face was droopy. He was wearing sweatpants that had seen better days and a black shirt with a faded and cracked David Bowie album cover stenciled on it.  Sandor tried not to laugh when he spied purple fluffy Ugg boots on his feet adored with blue puff balls and satin bows.

 

 

“What happened to us Sandor?” Jaime said shifting in his wife’s Uggs. “We used to be cool and do cool things.”

 

 

“Yeah,” he sighed.

 

 

Both men hung their heads in defeat.

 

 

Jaime smiled suddenly; "But I wouldn't trade it for all the chicken wings and beer in the world!"

 

 

Sandor barked out a laugh.

 

 

Out of the corner of his eye Sandor saw another cashier slide a cash drawer into the register on the next lane over then reach for his “open” light. Without missing a beat he shoved Jaime out of the way and threw his hex key set on the conveyor belt.

 

 

“Welcome to PateAid, would you like to apply for a PateAid card and save 15% -“

 

 

“No!” Sandor said a little more forceful than intended. “And I don’t need a bag!”

 

 

“Happy Sevenmas asshole!” Jaime snickered behind him as he dumped the content of his basket on the belt.

 

 

“You as well whoreson!” Sandor called over his shoulder nearly crashing into a tiny woman with a cart full of canned cat food and an empty pickle jar.

 

 

**5 hours, a pot of coffee, two crying breaks and a return trip to the store to get six 9 volt batteries later…..**

 

 

“ _The Pretty Pink Mini Highgarden Castle!”_ squealed Catie upon entering the living room.

 

 

 _“And the lights work!”_ Elinor shrieked flipping the lights in the playhouse on and off so fast Sandor was sure it was going to break.

 

 

 _“And roses!”_ Sandy exclaimed pulling the plastic flowers from their holders.

 

 

“Stop that!” Sansa scolded. She had spent an hour painstakingly assembling the roses only to find the holes drilled in their holders needed to be widened with an screwdriver to fit the stems.

 

 

“Sorry Mother,” Sandy said before forgetting what she was doing and rushed to disembowel all the presents wrapped in shiny pink paper.

 

 

Sansa flopped down on the couch next to Sandor.

 

 

“We made it,” she whispered as she took a sip of coffee and wiggled the thumb she had jammed trying to shove the door of the playhouse into it’s groove.

 

 

“We made it,” Sandor confirmed as he checked the bruise on his palm acquired when the flesh got caught between the joining of two walls.

 

 

They snuggled up against each other and watched their children explode with joy.

 

 

“Happy Sevenmas little bird” he growled into her hair.

 

 

“Happy Sevenmas my love” she whisper back then kissed him.

 

 

“Mother! Father! Look what Aunt Arya gave us!”

 

 

They looked up to see each girl wielding a long lightsaber like toy.

 

 

“What is it sweetie?” Sandor asked even though he was afraid to know.

 

 

“It lights up and makes noise when you do this!” Elinor demonstrated by whacking hers against a chair. The lightsaber lit up with twinkling lights and made a high pitch noise.

 

 

The girls giggled then began hitting the furniture, walls and floor squealing with delight. They soon discovered they got _twice_ the noise if they hit their siblings, especially on the head.

 

 

“You know that rug in the den Stranger keeps pissing on?” Sandor mumbled into Sansa’s hair. “I’m going to wrap your sister up in it and chuck her into the Trident. No jury would convict me!”

 

 

Sansa pinched the bridge of her nose to ward off another headache. She stood and stretched.

 

 

“Just let me know if they draw blood,” she said as she made her way around wads of discarded wrapping paper to the kitchen to prepare ice packs and breakfast.


End file.
